a zippo lights an old flame and I ignite the bowl of distraction. As long as the lips don’t taste foreign saliva we’re in the clear. my inner echoing voice reminds the intoxicated youth. We sit there eyeing the birds chirp lies into each other’s ears. The clock strikes and the caged birds sings lullabies of good-byes and with mixed music transitions, and we settle back into cigarette smoke and moobahton tunes.